Expectations
by Alternatively
Summary: If that kiss had never happened... An alternative explanation for Ron being the way Ron is.


They were all sitting around in the second floor living room of Grimmauld Place. It was starting to look almost cosy, now that the decrepit wallpaper had been stripped and the furniture restored.

'Oh come on Ron, you can't possibly expect me to believe you never thought about the future-'

Ron scowled

'Well, I didn't,'

'But that's-'

'Give it a rest, Hermione, all right? I don't have any plans, or dreams or any of that shit, ok? I've never thought about it, and you asking all the time isn't going to change that. I was a bit busy trying to work out how to help Harry get rid of Voldemort,'

Hermione gave him a troubled look

'Argh, what?

'Well, it's just… you must have thought about what it would be like afterwards,'

Ron let out an impatient breath

'For the last time, _no_, I didn't. I'm going to bed.'

Harry and Ginny wished Ron good night as though they had temporarily experienced selective deafness. George nodded, with his customary haunted look, and frowned after him.

'But he must have,' said Hermione, 'Do you think it's something he thinks we'd think was ridiculous?'

Harry snorted

'Divination, you mean? Don't really see Ron as the clairvoyant type.' Not that he cared particularly what Ron decided to do- though it would be excellent if he decided to become an Auror… Harry didn't really think he'd ever be able to trust anyone else the way he trusted Ron.

'Well no, but…'

George cleared his throat dramatically,

'For the most brilliant witch Hogwarts has seen in decades, you really have overlooked the most obvious thing,'

Hermione blinked

'Yes?'

A flicker of something painful crossed George's face.

'He's telling the truth.'

Hermione frowned. Ginny threw a cushion at George

'Quit being cryptic. He can't possibly be telling the truth. Everyone thinks about the future,'

George looked from her to Hermione.

'Exactly.'

Hermione stared at him. It felt as though she'd swallowed a cold, thick, poisonous potion. George couldn't possibly be implying what she thought he was implying…

'You mean he was expecting to die,' said Harry bluntly

George shrugged

'But that still doesn't make any sense,' said Ginny, 'We all thought we were going to die,'

'Yes, but… we're not Ron,'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Ginny was sitting all perched up now. Harry sighed and leaned further back into the sofa. It was weird to be talking about it out loud. He sort of knew anyway, but it was almost like his mind couldn't quite believe it.

Hermione made a strangled sort of choking sound.

'Chess,' she said, 'giant chess… but how- how is that possible? Argh, that is _so_ like him! But it's not possible, I mean-?'

George blinked at her

'I'd say ask him, but he doesn't seem to be in a particularly chatty mood just right now,'

'Do you know,' said Hermione brusquely, 'I don't think I care,' she got up and stalked out. George shrugged.

'Um,' said Harry, 'We might go to bed,'

Hermione stormed up the stairs, more furious with every step. Without thinking she headed straight for the roof, and there he was, sitting among the chimney pots in the cold.

'Let me get this straight,' she said, her voice dangerously calm, 'You did not expect to survive, so you didn't think about the future,'

Ron made an annoyed sound,

'For crying out loud, Hermione- argh, fine. No, I didn't think I'd survive,'

Hermione paused.

'Anyone else,' she said, her voice brittle, 'Would have thought that they _might_ survive. So if you didn't think that you might survive, that means that you were planning on dying,'

Ron shifted uneasily

'Not really. I just didn't think I would, you know…I mean, hunting horcruxes? It was always a bit of a suicide mission, really,'

He glanced over at her, and took in her rigid furious form. If looks could kill…

He sighed.

'Ok, look, I'll explain-'

'_What possible explanation-'_

'Hermione, if you're not going to listen, you can just bugger off and leave me alone, all right?'

Hermione's mouth snapped shut. She stood there glaring at him.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed again.

'You and Harry… you grew up in the Muggle world, you know? I didn't. When I was a kid, nearly every weekend we went to a memorial service for someone who'd been killed. We used to play this version of hide and seek… we'd all hide and we weren't allowed to come out until mum and dad said it was safe. I shared a room with Bill. You know he still has nightmares? I used to wake up in the middle of the night, and he'd be making this weird noise… kind of like a scream without any sound… The Wizarding war ended the year we were born, but it's not like everything that happened just went away, you know?'

He was gazing out into the cold dark of the evening, remembering.

'When you've watched the fall out from something like that… it's… I mean… you can't help but think that if it ever happened again, you'd do everything you could to stop it. So… when Voldemort came back… I… it was never a fight I could walk away from, but… I mean he killed thousands of magic users, you know, brilliant witches and wizards, powerful ones… and when he came back… I mean… we were on the front line… we were kids…' he shrugged, helpless, 'We never stood a chance,' he glanced over to her, quietly, almost apologetically, 'I really thought I'd be dead. Honestly, I really thought we'd all be dead. Maybe you or Harry might survive- he's a lucky bastard, and you… you're… unbelievably brilliant. But me? Nah. Best I could hope for was to die fighting, and hope that maybe, just maybe it would make a difference… So no… I've never thought about the future...'

He trailed off, staring out into the night again.

Hermione held her breath, and tried to choke back the sobs that were threatening to destroy her. Everything was falling into place, horribly, horribly into place… this was why Ron, with his brilliant strategical mind, had never planned- he had. He had planned to fight until it killed him, and that didn't really leave much space for a career. This was the reason he lounged about and ate far too much cake and didn't bother really trying with school work unless it was a practical exam in something defensive. Even quidditch suddenly swung into horrible focus- what does a keeper do? He uses his own body to protect the goal… and she knew he'd done that… seen him move, reposition himself so that he was blocking her and Harry from potential spell blasts… and she always felt safer with him there…

All at once, she couldn't hold it in, tears flooded down her face, and she was wracked with sobs. She felt weak and shaky and sick, and she couldn't seem to get enough air…

A soft strangled sound pulled Ron out of his thoughts, and he turned. She looked… he had never seen her like that before. She looked… anguished, desperate. She'd wrapped her arms around herself tightly, as though she was cold, or as though maybe she'd just fall to pieces if she let go. Her face was ashen, stretched into a bleak mask of devastation. Her eyes… she looked…like she was in unspeakable pain.

'I swear to God, if mum hadn't already murdered that insane bitch I would tear her limb from limb,' he snarled, 'Come on, let's find you a healer,'

Hermione fought to re-gain some control

"Don- don't die,' she choked, 'P-please don't die,' waves of panic swept over her, as she looked at him. Knowing how close she had come to losing him over and over again, and knowing that it wouldn't be the last time…

'What…?' this wasn't some after effect of crucio, apparently… she was freaking out about his hypothetical death. Tea clearly wasn't an option. He reached out and pulled her into a hug, and found himself instinctively curling around her, pulling her in closer and tighter, as though he could somehow squash out the panic.

'It's ok, it's fine- I'm fine- it's not- please stop crying, I never know what to do when you cry- it'll be ok, Hermione, it's, it's ok, I'm not dead, I'm not dying, I'm fine, you're fine, everything's just fine…'

Weirdly it seemed to be working. She was hanging on to him like a limpet, but the out of control crazy gulping-sobs seemed to have subsided into a more sane variety of weeping.

'Hey, d'you mind if I side-along you? We really should get out of the cold…'

She clung tighter, but nodded. Ron thought for a second that this was the weirdest thing- usually she took the lead with magic- and brought them twisting to a halt in her bedroom. She always left a small waterproof fire burning in the grate, so it was warm and flickery. The room was starting to look a lot like it belonged to her, Ron thought, staring at the stacks of books and rolls of parchment neatly stacked on every flat surface. The sudden blast of heat seemed to have calmed her down some more, because she loosened her death grip on his jumper, and somehow got a lot softer to hold. After a minute, she pulled a way a bit and stared at the giant R on his jumper, fighting to keep from crying again.

'I might go have a shower,' she said shakily. 'Can… you wait?'

What?

'Er… yeah, sure,'

'Thanks,' she stepped back, took a shaky breath and walked towards the door.

The room felt empty without her, the way spaces always did when she wasn't there. Ron ran a hand through his hair and sat on the end of the bed. He'd been in here before, but always with Harry or Ginny, or someone else, never alone, and never alone with her. Well, not for more than a couple of minutes anyway. When that happened, the temptation to reach out and touch her got unbearable, and he'd find some excuse to leave.

And now here he was.

Mostly he felt confused.

She was really upset. And that wasn't good. But it was nice that the idea of him dying upset her so much. But that was a weird thing to think. And it didn't mean she felt about him the way he wanted her to feel.

Which brought him back to the answer to her question.

He didn't know what he wanted to do, except… every so often his brain would spit up this little fantasy flash of what he might want. He'd known for a while that he was unshakably in love with her, but he had never contemplated the future, and so the little fantasy flashes were peculiarly upsetting.

Because he desperately wanted them to come true.

In the flashes, they were older, they were married, and they had kids. In the flashes, it was still them, they still argued and laughed and annoyed each other, but they had careers, and a house and a normal life… they had friends over for dinner, and he would cook, and she would pour wine, and when all the guests were gone and the kids were in bed and they were alone, upstairs, in bed…

Ron gave himself a mental head slap, and a sturdy reminder that these things were not to be.

He pulled his jumper off and felt a little better. The warmth of the room seemed to be affecting his eyes. He rubbed them, yawned and flopped back onto the bed.

Girls and bathrooms, he thought idly, how does it take them so long? The answer seemed to pop up out of nowhere. Merlin's balls, I hope she's not washing her hair…

The warmth was making him drowsy, and the thought that Hermione in the shower was a dangerous thing to think about flitted across his mind and vanished.


End file.
